


World War 2P

by Kitkatjul



Category: 2P Hetalia - Fandom, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2017-12-22 16:27:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitkatjul/pseuds/Kitkatjul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>France made bottles of colorful liquid, but did it really help England's problem?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Since I made this last december I need to make a few minor and major changes so I can only put out a couple at a time

America walked down the halls of his old home where he lived with England when he was small. Each room letting memories surface and killing him more inside. He sat down against the wall in his old, empty bedroom, light flooding in from the window as he went through all of his memories, tears falling from his cheeks.

  _“Iggy, Iggy! I want to grow up as strong as you one day!”_

_England smiled down at the young America “And I’m sure you will be.” He pats Alfred’s head and went to make dinner._

_“Iggy!” America called after him_

_“Hm?” he turned around to the small child._

_“Will you have to leave for sea soon?”_

_England nodded at him with a frown, sorrow in his eyes._

_“Can I come with you please?” America went to him and tugged on his pants leg, looking up at him._

_“No, but I promise that when you get stronger, you may come with me”_

_America didn’t feel quite satisfied but he agreed. “Okay…”_

America wiped the tears off his face with his sleeve. “How did my mind change so much on how I saw him?” He held his forehead, trying to think. Things changed so quickly. He must have hurt England so much…

 

_It was raining on the battlefield and everything seemed gray and dreary as the Revolutionary War took place, America had his gun pointed at England, ready to fire and had the rest of his army behind him. “Hey Britan, all I want is my freedom. I am no longer a child nor your little brother. From now on, consider me independent!” America stood firm as he looked at England. England, however, looked dumbfounded and broken but then frowned in anger and ran at America with his gun raised. America lowered his weapon and looked at him surprised. He raised his weapon to block England’s as they collided, which sent America’s gun flying. England looked at America, ready to battle and ready to keep him from leaving with his gun still raised and pointed at America’s head “I won’t allow it! Idiot, why can’t you follow anything through to the end?” America stood his ground as one of his soldiers yelled “Ready! Aim!” America stood in front of the gun, fear in his face until Britan lowered his weapon. “There is no way I can shoot you. I can’t.” He dropped his gun on the ground and fell to his knees, covering his face with his hand “Why? Dammit, why?! It’s not fair!” America looked down to him, a sense of pity in his eyes “You know why.”_

 

_“Let’s go home” Britan had said to child America, holding out his hand as America looked at him and smiled, giggling and taking his hand._

 

_Britan sobbed on the ground and America spoke “What happened? I remember when you were great…”_

 

America held back his sobs and cleaned himself up. “It wasn’t my fault for hurting him. He brought it on himself…” he put his head on his knees and wrapped his arms around his legs. Suddenly there was a creak in the hall and America lifted his head and looked at the doorway “Who’s there?” Britan came to the doorway “What are you doing here?” asked England “I was about to ask you the same.” America looked up at him. Britan cocked his head at him “Have you been crying?” America glared at him “Could you answer _my_ question first?” Britan sighed, “I visit here every once in awhile. Your turn.” America looked across the room “I wanted to come back just once…” Britan looked at him and then at the sun stained floor of the dusty and empty room, sorrow in his eyes. “I understand. I have wanted to go back many times myself. Especially when you first left.” America looked at his feet “Britan…I’m sorry,” Britan looked at him with a brow raised. “But I just wanted independence and now I have it and its great!” He weakly smiled but it soon faded. “But I do miss you and love you….and not as a brother.” America looked at him, his face solemn. Britan looked stunned. “What do you mean, Alfred?” America looked up at his emerald eyes. “I love you.” He stood and walked to Britan. “What are you doing?” He stepped back in to the lowly lit hallway and raised his arms up to his sides. America grabbed England’s coat and pulled him into the room slowly. “Get your hands off of me you bloody wanker!” He shouted at him. Alfred took Arthur’s wrist and leaned in to kiss him. Arthur stared at him “Have you lost your head?!” America ignored his comments and kissed him softly. Britan tensed up and slid his wrist out of America’s hands and put them on his chest to push him off. But he relaxed in Alfred’s embrace and gripped Alfred’s coat. The warmth was soothing and his stress was fading. He accepted it, closing his eyes and kissing back. He tasted the other on his lips and craved it. Red flags signaled in his head saying “What are you doing, you twit? You raised him!” He ignored them. He licked America’s lips and pulled him closer to him by tugging his jacket and he turned his head. He let his tongue go into Alfred’s mouth, enjoying it and exploring it. America stepped back and hung his head, embarrassed. “Sorry that was uncalled for…” Britan wiped his mouth and nodded, not really knowing what to say but smiled, rubbing the back of his head. America raised his head slowly. “I should be going.” He walked for the door. “I understand.” Britan managed to say but only as a whisper. America left and England’s smile faded. He processed what just happened. “What the bloody hell did I just do?” He smacked his forehead, leaving a red print and walked for the door. “I need some advice on this. The obvious one that has more experience in romance is obviously France.” He opened the door and left to go find Francis. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise this is the only cheesy part


	2. Confusion

France was busy, well, being France. But when he heard England was coming over for a chat he dropped everything and he had the maids set up a small meal. For France they place a glass of red wine and some grapes with half a ham and swiss cheese sandwich with sourdough bread cut corner to corner. For England he put out some green tea, a mix of potatoes, carrots, and dried tomatoes soup. He sat at his end of the small, round cherry wood table. He had out his finest dishes, placemats, and silverware. His maid dusted the also cherry wood bookshelf that held a wide variety of large books. He admired this room. The window next to the table had a beautiful view of the Eiffel Tower which he could stare at forever. He had a dusty light blue wallpaper with grey lines and marble vases with bright colored flowers. His rug was a mix of many colors, mainly consisting of burgundy, black, and white. France stared dreamily out the window as England stood at the doorway. “Ehem.” He tried to get his attention and he looked at him.

“Ah! England so lovely to see you here! I heard you were coming so I prepared some food! Come sit, sit!” France grinned at him.

England looked at him oddly and sat down at the other side of the table, rubbing his forehead “Listen, I came for some advice.” France set down his wine and looked at him with a straight face. “Really? Well, tell me, what is the problem?”

England sighed. “America snogged me and I don’t know what to make of it.”

France looked surprised. “Well this is unexpected.” England nodded. “Well how do you want me to help?”

England looked up at him with his brows furrowed. “Tell me what to do!” He shouted. “You have more romantic experiences then I do!”

France considered this briefly. “Very true… I say go with it. There won’t be any harm in it. If it gets to be too much, drink this.” He gave him a small vile of pink liquid.

“Is this poison?” France shook his head and chuckled. “Oh no, no. It just opens your other self. I have each vile for all the country’s! It is a certain mix with certain chemicals.”

England looked down at it curiously. “And yours?” France looked down with closed eyes and smirked. “Mine is burgundy.” England seemed growingly curious. “What are all the colors for everyone?”

France kept his position. “America’s is brown, Japan’s is black, Germany’s is a dark olive green, Italy’s is light brown, Russia’s is a dark grey, Canada’s is bright red, and so on.”

England thought for a moment, confused. “What is our ‘other self’? And why is mine pink of all bloody colors?”

France looked up, “You will see. The color plays a role in what your other self is like.” England nodded. “Yours was the hardest to make, by far” England cocked an eyebrow as he drank his tea. “Well off that subject now!”

England shrugged and set down his tea. “Thank you for the advice and tea, I shall be off now,”

France nodded and sipped at his wine “Of course, of course! What are friends for?” England gave a quick smile before heading off.

 

The very next day, America came to France. While being in the same room, they simply gave America French fries and coffee. France had white wine and a Cesar salad.

“Hello America! Come, sit!” he smiled at him. America smiled back and sat, unable to resist snacking on the fries.

“So what is it you wanted to talk to me about?”

America sighed, “I kissed Britan and I don’t know if he is upset or mad and I don’t want to lose him completely.”

France nodded as he swallowed his wine. “I see. You never know Alfred; he may give it a chance.”

America chuckled “I doubt it.”

France sighed, “England came here yesterday. I wouldn’t doubt it”

America perked up “What did he say?”

France shrugged, “He needed advice. Other than that my lips are sealed,”

America sighed and France stood and went to his closet, taking something and coming back. “If it gets too stressful, drink this.” It was a small vile with a brown liquid in it.

“Man, what’s in that? Mud, Poison?”

France sighed, “Why does everyone think its poison…” France looked him in the eyes with a firm look. “It opens your other self, one that will forget your previous one. Well, not completely. It is your exact opposite.”

America looked surprised. “Does everybody have one?”

France nodded. “In my closet yes, except England’s. I gave him his yesterday.” France slapped his mouth “Fuck… well that’s enough of this conversation!”

America was ready to object when France started pushing him out. “Some things I can’t say!”

America left and felt more confused and frustrated than before. He looked at the bottle “I don’t know I seem pretty stressed out now.” He took out its cork and drank all of it. He suddenly started coughing and ran for the nearest ally. He felt like his throat was legitimately closing as if being strangled and his head were being smashed in with a baseball bat. He held his head and squirmed around, falling to his knees and holding his head. A voice rang out in his head “You won’t be _needing_ this body, will you? Oh fucking well.” His skin got tanner, his hair got darker, and his eyes turned red. Before he knew it he was out cold on the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Horribly short I apologize


	3. The Change

Arthur sat in his dark green chair at his classy and comfortable house near the cobblestone fire place reading so he could clear his mind. He had hardwood floors, plenty of floral rugs, and beautiful vases near the door with sunflowers. The walls were a warm brown and it was lowly lit across the room from the fireplace. He flipped the page and heard a bang outside. He jumped, lowering his book and looking around. “Bloody cats…” He went back to reading his book. Then there was something scratching at the window. He stood “Bloody hell.” He went to the window, leaving his book on his chair’s arm. Looking out he saw nothing but a very noticeable scratch on the glass and rolled his eyes. “Perfect.” He walked back to his chair and was halfway there he heard a knock at the door. He groaned and went to the door “Who comes at this hour at night?” He opened the door. It was America…kind of. America grinned at him, holding a bat on his shoulder, outfit changed. “Alfred? What in God’s name happened to you?” The man chuckled, “The name is Allan, thanks, and Alfred is long gone.” Arthur looked at him confused “What happened to Alfred?!” He demanded. Allan chuckled again. A smug sort of chuckle. “Some brown shit in a bottle” Britan froze, remembering Frances words.

 

_“America’s is brown, Japan’s is black, Germany’s is a dark olive green, Italy’s is tan, Russia’s is a dark grey, Canada’s is red, and so on.”_

 

“Brown…” England said in disbelief. He took the pink vile out of his pocket, looking at it. America rested the top of his bat on the ground, leaning on it and showing the nails in the end of it. England looked at it “You don’t plan to _use_ that, do you?” Allan smiled at him maliciously. Britan panicked a little. “Would you give me a second? I need to take my medicine.” Allan shrugged and England rushed to the kitchen, noticing a small sticker on the bottom. “Oliver?” England read. He shrugged and took out the cork and downed the bottle, hiccupping a tad. His chest started to feel like it was shrinking and crushing him and as if his head was being stabbed with a knife and he fell to the floor, closing his eyes tightly as he was on all fours. He heard a giggling in his head speaking to him “Oh, Arthur, don’t worry. I’ll take good care of you~” The giggling started to sound insane. His skin turned pale and his hair a light blonde. He opened his eyes. They had turned a light baby blue. Arthur went unconscious.

  


Oliver stood and went to Arthur’s bedroom and looked through his closet. “Hmm where is something I can wear…Ah!” He took the light pink collared shirt with the purple vest and tan pants. He changed quickly, putting on some brown dress shoes “Oh there is something missing!” He looked through his dresser. “Ah~” A bright blue bow lay in the very back. He took it and placed it around his neck, tying it and grinned. He went to the kitchen before going to the door, grabbing a sharp knife, hiding it behind him.

“Allan~~” he giggled. He looked up “Nice costume change” he chuckled. “Allan are you going to hurt me with that bat~?” He smirked “Do you like death?” Oliver looked sweetly up at him “I like seeing death! The blood is so pretty and they make for my secret ingredient in my cupcakes~” Allan looked impressed and lifted his bat. “Let’s see how your blood looks.” Oliver giggled and looked down, gripping the knife and smiling a Cheshire smile. Allan got ready to swing and Oliver took out his knife and dug it into Allan’s left shoulder. Allan yelled in pain and leaned over. Oliver pushed his shoulders down, knocking Allan to the ground, pushing the knife through his shoulder. Oliver trailed his finger through the blood on the tip of the knife and tasted it. “Oh! It’s delicious~!” He giggled. Allan was on the floor moaning in pain that he was not accustoming to.

Oliver dragged him to a kitchen chair and tied him there. Allan frowned “What are you doing?” Oliver giggled with his apron on “Making you some cupcakes with my other special ingredient!” He rushed around the kitchen, making cupcakes, pouring in an unknown substance into the batter. He put them in little cupcake wrappers and into the oven, giggling. “Why should I care if you make some fucking cupcakes? I hate those damn things and I’d prefer an apple.” Oliver glared at him. “What a fowl mouth! I ought to wash it out with soap!” He took the bar of soap next to the sink and shoved it into Allan’s mouth. “Ah, that’s better! No more of that _noise pollution._ ” he smiled, skipping about the kitchen. Oliver took a different knife and held it loosely, walking past Allan and cutting across his forehead. Allan scowled at him and tried not to swallow the soap. Oliver wiped his finger across the scar and tasted it. “Oh I just love it! Oh the things I can do with you!” He jumped for joy and laughed.

He stood near the timer and waited for it to buzz until there was a knock at the door “Coming~!” Oliver pranced to the door and opened it. “Francis! Oh my, what a lovely surprise!” France looked at him “Ah you drank it how wonderful! This is why it was hard to make! Something loveable yet gruesome are two things that are very hard to combine!” He just skipped to the kitchen and tasted Allan’s blood again “I need to get a bottle of that! Oh, I could drink it all day!” France looked in the kitchen and saw America tied up with a pink soap bar shoved in his mouth and a knife in his shoulder. Allan glared at him murderously and France flinched, keeping his distance. Oliver hummed a happy tune as the buzzer went off and he giggled. “Now for the icing!” He took them out with some potholders and went digging in the cupboard “Oh there isn’t any icing!” he pouted. Oliver shrugged “Just this once I will have to go without...” He took the soap out of America’s mouth and gave him a grin. “I’m not eating that crap.” He spat soap on him. “Aren’t you just a naughty child!” He held Allan’s mouth open with one hand, attempting to shove it down his throat. “Quit struggling!!” He crammed it in his mouth, avoiding being bit and holding his mouth closed “Swallow…” Allan glared at him and France slipped out before _he_ had to have a cupcake.

Oliver grinned at him and walked to the counter to set his cupcakes in a wicker basket while humming. America spat out the cupcake, his shoulder burning like fire and his hands bound along with his ankles. “How about I make you a deal?” Oliver turned around “Oh? Such as what?” Allan smirked, “You let me go without letting me eat your cupcakes and you and I go give the others there little ‘potions’. Then we have fun killing.” Oliver considered this “Why give the potions?” Allan grinned up at him, “To make it more fun.” Oliver thought and frowned “But…” Allen cocked an eyebrow “Alright let’s give them the potion and see if they like you” Oliver considered. “Alright I’ll take your deal” Allan grinned and Oliver was going behind him and cutting him loose and pulling out his knife quickly, making him inhale sharply. Allan stood, going to get his bat while his wound healed slowly. “Shall we go, dear?” Allan called. “I have to sharpen my knife! The ropes dulled it!” Allan rolled his eyes, hearing the knife sharpen. “Would you hurry? I want to go!” The sounds stopped “Done~!” He skipped out and swung his apron on the back of the couch. Allan offered to link arms with him and Oliver accepted, walking out the door together.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Working on fixing more chapters!


	4. A Blood Bath in Fortune

They walked to France’s house, Oliver’s eyes glowing light blue and bright pink in the crisp autumn night. “I very much do love our stroll~” Allan chuckled slightly “There’s the house. Let’s do some robbing.” Oliver nodded “Shall I distract and guard?” Allan nodded and climbed up the wall. Oliver knocked on the door and a maid came to the door. “Yes, how may I help you?” Oliver smiled “Is Francis home?” she shook her head “Out doing errands. Did you need to speak with him?” Oliver shrugged. “Could I leave a message?” She nodded “Tell him he will be left with burgundy and we expect he drink it to live. We will take the rest and distribute them properly.” She nodded and wrote it down in a notebook. “What does all this mean?” He smirked “He will know I assure you.” He grinned and giggled. “May I ask who is speaking?” His face looked malicious when she asked “Oh just Oliver. Also add that if he doesn’t take it, I will kill him myself~” He smiled sweetly. She panicked and ran from him, America jumping down from the window with a clinking and clanging bag full of different bottles of different colors. “Let’s go.” He jogged back to the house and Oliver followed, keeping close. “What next?” Asked Oliver. Allen sighed as he jogged, holding Oliver’s hand to keep him from falling behind. The guy liked cupcakes what else would he expect? “We get in our last clothes and pass out the bottles.” Oliver giggled “Oh and did you leave the burgundy?” Allan nodded and started running, Oliver almost tripping. “What’s the rush, love~?” Allan kept his eyes in front of them “Someone _will_ report us for taking things from another’s house.” Oliver nodded and rushed with him.

 

Oliver changed into his last outfit “Oh, I don’t like this one bit!” Allan shrugged “It’s temporary I’m focusing on that. Think we need colored contacts?” Oliver frowned at him “Gracious, no!” Allan chuckled “Alright, babe. Who’s first?” Oliver thought. “Let’s give Matthew a pep talk, Hm?”Allan smirked and nodded. “Off to see brother Matthew.” He chuckled. There was Arthur’s voice in Oliver’s head. “What are you doing?! You idiot, you’ll kill everyone!” Oliver just giggled while Allan looked at him and shrugged. Allan did hear Alfred and mainly ignored him “Dude, why are you a vegetarian? Hamburgers are awesome!” Oliver came with Alfred’s old clothes “Best to change, dear~” he giggled and handed him he clothes, pecking him on the lips. Allan smirked and went to the bathroom. Oliver cleaned around the house for the hell of it “Oh this house is so very _bland!_ I will have to redecorate soon.” He vomited some in his mouth while looking at the living room. Allan came out “This does not suit me at all.” Oliver giggled “We need to get you some cover up. You are just too tan, love~” He nodded, putting the bottles in a box with labels of flags “We should hurry before Francis hears and warns everyone.” Oliver giggled “There are always ways to hush him!” Allan shook his head “Tempting but no.” Oliver pouted but nodded. “All set up let’s go babe” Oliver giggled and skipped out the door.

 

They came to Matthew’s home and Oliver knocked on the door. Allan pushed him aside and banged on the door “Matthew! Wake up! ” Allan sighed. Matthew opened up “Oh hi guys sorry for taking so long…” he whispered, rubbing the back of his head timidly. Oliver stepped forward “We have a gift for you!” Canada looked stunned “Y-you do?” Oliver nodded and handed him the small red bottle. “What’s this?” Oliver laughed “Oh it’s a confidence boost drink! I know you’ve had trouble with it so I thought you might like it,” Canada looked at it “Thanks guys!” He smiled and drank the bottle in a second. He fell to the floor, clawing at his chest and tried to cover his head like he was being beaten with a hockey stick, slowly changing. Allan and Oliver watched curiously, seeing his hair grow a few inches longer. Mattheiu stood up with his eyes closed and took the shades off Allan’s head. Allan shrugged, “You alright, bro?” Mattheiu sighed, “Yeah, sure.” He turned around and closed the door. Oliver smiled at Allan “Probably best for him not to come” Allan nodded. Oliver giggled “Who next?” Allan chuckled “How about good old Ludwig?” Oliver smiled and nodded. He took America’s hand and skipped off.

 

At Germany’s house they knocked on the door “VHAT DO YOU VANT AT ZHIS TIME OF NIGHT SAFTSACK!” Oliver flinched as he opened the door “Oh it’s you two. All zhe same vhy are you still up?” Oliver held up the dark olive green bottle “Vhat’s zhis?” Allan shoved Oliver a bit “It’s a tonic for the nerves. Obviously you need it.”

 

  
Germany took it and observed it “Vell, I don’t see vhy not.” He downed the bottle and squirmed while covering his head with his arms like trying to stop any sort of attack. All that changed was that his eyes turned purple and a scar appeared across his right cheek. Allan smirked at him “Hello Lorring.” He looked tired and closed the door. Oliver thought. “We need a list, love” Allan nodded “Write one down then” Oliver nodded. 

_~~Alfred~~ _   
_Jack_   
_Rodderich_   
_Natalia_   
_Bella_

_~~Matthew~~ _   
_Yao_   
_Maximo_   
_Mathias_

_Gupta_   
_~~Arthur~~_   
_Eduard_   
_Tino_   
_~~Francis~~ ~~~~_

_Siegfried_   
_~~Ludwig~~_   
_Heracles_   
_Elizaveta_   
_Richard_   
_Emil_   
_Feliciano_   
_Kiku_   
_Soo_   
_Edel_   
_Alrik_

_Ravis_   
_Lilly_   
_Toris_

_Sylar_

_Genevieve_   
_Lars_   
_Kaelin_   
_Lukas_   
_Feliks_   
_Gilbert_   
_Vladimir_   
_Lovino_   
_Romulus_   
_Ivan_   
_Peter_   
_Piero_   
_Michelle_   
_Antonio_   
_Berwald_   
_Vash_   
_Mei_   
_Keit_   
_Tarkan_   
_Sadiq_   
_Katyusha_

_Lieu_   
_Manda_

 

After Oliver wrote down the list he looked through it “Let’s do a random one~! “ He skimmed through the list “Feliciano! And then he can take my place. I’m worn to the bone dear!” he giggled. Allan sighed briefly “Alright babe. He doesn’t live too far I think” They set off to get to Italy.

They reached Italy’s house and banged on the door “Feliciano~!” Oliver called and soon a tired country came to the door slouching “What?” he whined, wanting to go back to bed. Allan gave him the small bottle of light brown liquid. He drank without question or observation. He fell on the floor and sounded like he was choking as he grabbed his throat like it was being slit slowly while his eyes went red. Fiorello picked himself off the floor and frowned “What do you want?” He stared at them. Allan stepped forward “Take Oliver’s place we’re passing out bottles” Fiorello shrugged, “Fine, fine.” Oliver started walking home and went straight to bed. Allan looked over his shoulder and back to Fiorello “Put on the blue outfit.” He sighed begrudgingly and went to do so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got all of the names from here except England's 2P
> 
> http://bftlandmwandsek.deviantart.com/journal/BFTLandMWandSEK-s-Hetalia-2P-Human-Names-301971081


	5. Rushing for a Remedy

After all countries were turned but France, the next morning the bloodbaths had already started and France panicked “Oh no, no, no!” he rushed around mixing chemicals and testing while he tried to make a remedy for everyone. “What to do!” he pounded his forehead until he heard a bang on the door and a knife carving into the wood. He panicked and he couldn’t think. “I used to be strong! How did I do it ah…?” He saw a sword hung in the hallway. “Yes!” He went and opened the door, sword raised. Oliver laughed like a maniac and shook his head “Oh dear Francis~ why don’t you just drink it?” France flinched “Because I’m trying to fix it!” Oliver laughed again “You can’t. Just give in! It will be so much easier~” France shook his head “I want Arthur back! Even if he is a stubborn, stuck-up, know it all, and horrible cook” Oliver’s eye color flashed “Hey! I can cook! Right?” France stared at England as he went from normal to murderous and back to normal.  Oliver yelled “No! I have waited TOO LONG to go back now!” he stomped to France and lifted his knife to stab him, but stopped halfway there. “N-no! I won’t hurt him!” France stood and watched them fight with each other.

After whatever was going on with England, he passed out on the ground which France took the opportunity to drag him inside and tie him down, looking for a cure. France took a hair from his head and tested it for hours, America yelling from outside. “I SWEAR TO GOD YOU LITTLE PRICK I WILL SHAVE OFF YOUR SKIN WHERE IS OLIVER?” France trembled at the threat and went to the window “He isn’t here! I believe I saw Japan take a swing at him!” A glass bottle was thrown into the window and shattered on the floor. Some of which cut Oliver’s face. France Picked him up and untied him, strapping him to a table “Much better,” There was a loud bang from America’s bat hitting the door. France jumped “I already know Japan doesn’t have him. He came here. GIVE HIM TO ME.” France placed another chemical down and looked through the microscope, biting his lip. “This will take too long!!! I need…I need…What was that damned chemical? Or was it an herb?” His train of thought stopped when Allan slammed the front door open. France panicked and quickly gave Oliver the medicine “Please don’t be allergic!” He luckily wasn’t but Allan kicked the door open. He looked deadly. France flinched and backed up as Allan walked to him with his bat on his shoulders. “I would prefer you not to breathe.” he spoke through gritted teeth. He lifted his bat and smashed him multiple times, sending him to the floor and bleeding out quickly. “I won’t even let you die slowly!” Francis couldn’t even flinch when Allan left the finishing blow to his head.   


Fiorello slept throughout the day from the exhaustion of last night and passing out bottles of various colors. Lorring banged on the door hard and Fiorello didn’t jump. He just groaned and fell off the bed. “It’s open! Just let me get my sleep…” Lorring walked in “Get up, you ass!” He groaned from the floor “Why?” Lorring rolled his eyes “Unless you want your house burned down!” Fiorello stood “They wouldn’t” Lorring smirked “Oh, but they would.” Fiorello got dressed and took his knife “OH, There’s going to be BLOOD!” Lorring laughed and followed.  
  
Mattheiu started bashing heads with his hockey stick. No one really had a reason for all the bloodshed but they had to let out their anger somehow. After Allan had taken Oliver away and he regained consciousness, he had already gone outside and started a knife fight with Fiorello. It was all good fun! Allan was busy having a bat-to-pipe fight with Russia. Ion cursed at him and swung his pipe repeatedly as Allan ducked and swung with his already bloody bat. Oliver cried out, pinned to the ground with a knife to his throat. “Allan!!” Allan looked over “Oliver shit!” He rushed over and hit Fiorello in the face, knocking him back. He helped him up “You alright, babe?” Oliver nodded and gave him a kiss. After he pulled back Allan chuckled and noticed Russia started fighting Japan. He looked at Oliver “Wanna have a little fight?” Oliver grinned and nodded. Their way of flirting was basically almost killing each other. Allan swung his bat and Oliver blocked it with his knife with little effort. It dug into the wood and was stuck so Allan tugged which gave Oliver time to get another knife from his belt and slice at Allan. It skimmed his cheek and Oliver tasted the blood and made a very pleased noise “Oh, I just LOVE that taste!” Allan smirked and took the pocket knife from his pocket and slashed Oliver’s face, licking up the knife somewhat seductively “Not bad yourself, babe.” Oliver giggled and slashed at his legs. Allan jumped back, smiling for once. Oliver stopped moving and stood, looking at something curiously. Allan looked over his shoulder to see Mattheiu chasing a bull moose. Allan tilted his head until he noticed “Wait shit!” He rushed away and pulled Oliver’s arm, jerking him out of his daze. Mattheiu leapt onto the creature and pulled its antlers back, somehow pulling it on his back. He had to be quick not to get his legs crushed. He was used to this by now. He never had a reason; he’d just wrestle with Bull Moose for the hell of it. The moose stood and ran off and Mattheiu smirked at it “Ha.” He had changed drastically from the time he drank the bottle. Besides his eye color, his curl, skin color, and hair color, he had changed completely. His hair was much longer and was almost always tied up. He wore shades, a red plaid shirt, torn jeans, and strong hiking boots. He was now taller, stronger, faster, and braver. He pushed his shades up on top of his head and looked over at Oliver and Allan. “Like the show?” Allan raised his hand for a high five “Nice job bro!” Mattheiu looked at Allan’s hand, then at Allan. “I’m good.” Allan rolled his eyes. “What are you two doing? A flirting dance?” Oliver blushed and looked down “Ah…..No! What would give you that idea?” Canada chuckled “Having multiple chances to kill him and not taking even one.” Oliver shuffled his feet and stuck out his tongue. Allan looked over and covered his mouth “That’s mine. Don’t flaunt it.” Mattheiu laughed and walked off. Allan smirked at Oliver. Oliver crossed his arms and pouted. Allan rolled his eyes and kissed him. Why? One, to shut him up. Two, because he could. Oliver didn’t fuss about it. He pulled back and Oliver’s face was beat red. He laughed and pat his back. “Come on, cupcake. Let’s go kick some ass.”

 

 


	6. A Change of Events

Oliver continued walking with Allan when he fell to the ground. Allan looked over “Clumsy little shit.” He kicked him in the rear “Get up.” Oliver clawed at his face and neck, squirming around. “Oliver?” He looked up at him, his eyes fading in between his normal light blue and pink to an emerald green. Allan backed off as he watched the others hair turn into a dirty blonde and his skin turn a little darker. He weakly stood up and brushed himself off. He looked at Allan who was flinching away. “How the hell are you back you little prick?!” he lifted his bat Arthur decided not to panic and walked away. Allan yelled to him “Get back here you little wimp!” Arthur walked faster, rushing to France’s house. “Oh dear god, let him be his regular self.”   
  
He went into the dusty house slowly and went down the hall. Blood poured out from the room they met in last time. “No…No, no, no, no!” He opened the very beaten door and saw Francis, dead on the floor. He ran through the blood and looked down at France. England paced “Maybe! Oh, just maybe!” He plucked a hair from France and looked under the microscope. “Alright…” he went to the closet and retrieved the burgundy vile “Please work!” He poured it into France’s mouth.  
  
Allan was talking to Mattheiu “I have no idea what happened! I know that I do not want to be stuck in the head of that dweeb again!” Mattheiu nodded “It’ll be a war before we go back.” Lorring walked up “My other self would usually suggest this but, it should work. Let’s call a meeting. That should resolve something.” Mattheiu sighed “If it’s necessary. I’m not a fan of that shit.” Lorring nodded. “Alright, the nails are getting dry. Let’s bring these mother fuckers together.” Lorring put a hand on his shoulder “Not like that. Gently” Allan groaned “C’mon. That’s no fun” Germany rolled his eyes “It’s not intended to be.” Mattheiu slugged Allen in the arm “Let’s go before the little prick gets them to their last self.”  Lorring flinched slightly at the thought and nodded.  
  


Arthur jumped back when Francis changed to Francois. He quickly tried to give him the remedy he brewed and Francois tried to kick him away. “Get away I’m not having that crap!” England sighed “This is going to be harder than I wanted it to be.” He leapt onto Francois with the remedy in his sweaty grip. France had nothing to fight with so he just threw a punch and England yelled “Quit being so difficult!” Francois kicked him in the stomach and Arthur vomited a little. “I’m not going to take it! Keep your ugly hands off me.” England looked offended and stepped back “Fine.” France sat against a corner and relaxed “God I’m too sore for this crap.” Arthur shrugged and paced a little “Well, when you’re beaten to a pulp by a baseball bat with nails, naturally you will. I’m surprised this even revived you. You don’t even have a scratch” Francois nodded and stood up slowly, looking out the window. Arthur came up behind him, syringe still in hand. “This is what he has made and he is proud of it.” Francois nodded “It is beautiful, I’ll give him that.” England looked down and moved the needle closer to Francois’s lower back to the far right, carefully letting it go through his clothes. ‘ _It’s a good thing he is so distracted by it like France was’_ England thought to himself. He moved the needle more into his skin. Surely he would think of it as his sore body. He moved it past the skin and injected him, smiling. He pulled the needle out and looked back up “So, anything you want to do?” Francois shook his head “Unlike your guy, I have no interest or inspiration or anything. I’m about the most boring guy you’ll probably meet. You got a smoke?” England sighed. “No, but I understand. You all being different from your original.” France rubbed the spot where he was given the shot and England backed off. Francois groaned “Why do I keep getting sore? It’s worsening I swear.” England kept a straight face “Try sitting down.” Francois nodded and sat down. Obviously he wasn’t much of a fighter unless he had to. He lay against the wall and tried to relax. It kept getting worse and he squirmed around, clawing at his neck. “What the fuck is happening?!” his stubble fell out and the bags under his eyes faded. His purple eyes went to a beautiful blue. France sat on the floor, unsure of what happened. England looked down at him “Alright, you idiot, let’s clean up the mess you made.”   
  
Lorring yawned and laid his head on the table. Allan looked unhappy. “ALRIGHT LET’S DO SOMETHING ABOUT THIS SHIT I WANT OLIVER BACK.” He growled. Fiorello rolled his eyes “Look, lover boy. There isn’t another pink vile to get your peppy little prick back. Get over it.” Allan turned red and tried to stand up but Mattheiu pulled him back down. Let’s not get our boxers or panties in a wad. Let’s be reasonable.” Allan sighed and looked pissed at Fiorello. Allan looked at Matt “What’s your plan, then? We’re all _dying_ to hear” Matt looked at him plainly. “Obviously Fiorello has a point. We can’t get them back. But we can keep from being turned back. Understand?” Allan crossed his arms on the table and lay his head down. Truth be told he was a little heartbroken. Ion spoke up “We have a point but then there is the fact of their numbers being few and our numbers being great. We don’t have much of a fight against us. But it still would not be wise to sit around and forget about it.” Matt let a small smile find its way on his face. “Amen to that.” Ion glared at him. Lorring sat up “So what do we do about them?” Allan didn’t lift his head “We quit being little chicken shits and we beat their asses into their grave.” Mattheiu nodded “Good plan. Alright, let’s get down to business.”

Arthur looked to France while he was working. He was using a dropper, dripping a clear liquid into a small chamber of a bullet while having magnifying glasses to help see every detail. “Are those the specialized bullets?” He nodded, keeping his eyes on his work unblinking. “You only explained them to me briefly; could you summarize it as best you can?” France sighed, dropping the dropper. “These are bullets unlike usual kinds. The silver bottom you see there is just the inside that carries the antidote to be covered with very thin glass. Thin metal is put around it to create the outer shell. Once shot, the outer shell weakens and when it penetrates skin, it breaks along with the glass releasing the liquid into the bloodstream. But Arthur, remember! We don’t have much time to be asking questions. I’ll show you how to make them and then get to work.” He nodded, watching him work. When you have a chance of dying, you work quickly. Though, it still needed a lot of work. England multitasked, making the special bullets and the gun. “Also, be sparing with the bullets. You have a very limited amount.” It took him no time to wire it up and such but putting the pieces together was a little difficult. “This would work better with Ludwig.” France admitted. England sighed in frustration “I don’t believe he is exactly on our side right now!” France nodded “I know, I know! Just….what if we don’t make it and we die trying?” England rolled his eyes. “Have some faith, will you? We won’t die if we get these put together.” He attached part B to part D with part C on top of part A and sighed “Is it done yet do you think?” France nodded and locked in the ammo. France looked up at him “Please. You’re stronger! I cannot do much but profit to a cause. I will stay here to make another gun and be reinforcement if needed.” England nodded because he knew what he was saying was true. He went into the closet down the hall and looked inside. Many flamboyant outfits were hung up but at the very end was a modern French army uniform. He looked over to France “Mind if I…?” France looked over “Oh, not at all go ahead!” England took out the uniform and began to take off the purple vest “I haven’t worn all these horrid things since when it was Easter and I was raising Alfred….” He thought about then and how Alfred would laugh and play with his bowtie with his small hands. Now it was covered in blood. England pulled the shirt and bullet proof vest on. He turned to see France come to him with black thumbs and wipe under his eyes, chuckling “There!” England looked irritated “What was that? Eyeliner? I’m not trying to impress anyone!” France ignored his comments and placed the gun in his hands. “Make sure to hit their skin and don’t hit them in the eye!” England nodded and growled when Francis started fixing his hair. England walked out the door swiftly.  
  



	7. The Battle Rages On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> England makes his move

England made his way to each of their houses only to find each one empty. He wondered for what seemed an endless time until finding the place the medicine changed him. He continued walking in no particular direction along the dark green grass and grey skies overhead. Soon it changed to dead grass everywhere and then dried out dirt for as far as the eye could see. He frowned. “Wasn’t this an entire forest?” He furrowed his brows and looked around before continuing his walk with slight caution. He saw nothing but dirt, the rain beginning to sprinkle above him. He sighed nervously until a rundown building showed on the horizon. England stopped to gaze at it, shuttering. “No going back now.” He walked cautiously, first seeing what was now Russia. Ion guarded the door with a thick iron pipe in his grip. His clothes were grey along with his hair and his eyes a burning red. England shuttered in sudden fear. If Russia didn’t scare the shit out of him then, now it was twelve times worse. He lifted his gun, swallowing and taking a deep breath, exhaling slowly. Somehow, still unknown to every living creature, he heard it, turning to his direction sharply and giving him an absolute murderous glare. He froze like he was in the middle of a raging blizzard in Russia. Ion ran to him swiftly with the pipe to his chest, lifting it only when he came in the range of 20 feet.

  ** _MOVE YOUR FINGER NOW!_**

 He pulled the trigger, hitting him in the stomach only an inch from his navel. He didn’t react, obviously assuming he would heal soon. His assumptions died when he toppled onto the ground in excruciating pain. England kneeled down and covered Russia’s mouth to muffle the screams of pain coming from his lips to remain discrete, watching his eyes turn purple again. “Ivan, are you alright?” Russia sat up, holding his stomach as if expecting a scar only to find skin. “I’m quite alright. But do tell me, what happened?” England sighed in relief “Too long to explain. Go to France’s house as soon as you can. He will explain everything.” Ivan smiled at him “Alright. But I do hope I get to kill the others with you.” Arthur looked at him oddly. “….Alright?” He stood, turning to the building. He took a deep breath and started walking towards it quickly, thinking to himself.

_Maybe this won’t be so hard…_

He looked at the door, going over a plan.

_Obviously going through the front door isn’t the best idea unless I have multiple men on my side in which I don’t… It looks like an old mansion and usually at the age of these they have a wine cellar. There’s a start._

He went around the building, finding the cellar doors and pulling them open with a strong tug. After a loud bang and the dust settled, he cursed under his breath, hearing a shuffle of feet that were obviously drunk. Fiorello leaned against the wall at the bottom of the stairs, shirt half way buttoned down and hickeys covering his neck. He hiccupped, slurring his words “What th’ fuck do you want? I’m _busy_.” He waved a wine bottle towards him. “I noticed.” England said, obviously a little irritated.

A sudden figure came towards Fiorello, also drunk. England squinted to see it was Germany kissing sloppily at Fiorello where ever he could. He was shirtless, showing many cuts on his body from Italy that hadn’t healed yet. England rolled his eyes, shooting them both quickly. After a second of them registering what just happened to them, Fiorello dropped first, Lorring not far behind.

Since they were so intoxicated (Seeing as the others alcohol levels rise when they are in their other form so they were twice as drunk as they would usually be), they remained unconscious. Arthur wrote down a quick note and left it on Feliciano for whenever they woke up.

He stepped over the two men and walked through the dark cellar. From the way things were knocked down and broken in one corner, they probably hadn’t been ‘busy’ for too long. He walked up the stairs, opening the door cautiously. Japan walked down the hallway wearing all black and kept a fast pace. England backed away a little.

_Where was he headed to in such a hurry?_

After Kyo passed him and he waited, he crept around the corner silently and looked around cautiously. He listened.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN ION IS **_GONE_**?” Allan shouted. Arthur flinched, biting his lip.

“He isn’t in the building and is missing from his post.” Kyo spoke calmly.

“Good job, Allan. You lost our best guy.” Japan spoke with attitude.

“Shut _up_ , Yang!” Allan groaned, frustrated.

“Well _you’re_ the leader.”

There was a small sound that seemed like a low growl.

England kept to the wall, gritting his teeth.

_What am I going to do from here?_

He put his head in his palm.

_Aren’t I just the best bloody planner?_

He sighed quietly, going to listen again.

Allan groaned “Where is Mattheiu? Where is my brother god damn it. Yang, since you’re just bitching, _you_ go get him.”

“I’m not your mother, asshole. Get him yourself.”

“LISTEN HERE YOU LITTLE SHIT. I’VE HAD JU-“

“Allan calm the fuck down I’m here.”

“Where the hell have you been?”

“Arthur is here.”

England froze.

“…What do you mean he’s here?”

“And he found a way to turn us back... _Isn’t that right, Arthur?_ ”

He stood with his jaw dropped, unmoving.

_How did he know I was here?_

Mattheiu laughed, pacing with a loud thump of his boots. No, not pacing. The steps weren’t getting quiet. They were getting louder and louder. He was coming this way.

_Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck_

He wanted to move. He wanted to run. He wanted to hold up his gun and shoot him to bring Matthew back…but he couldn’t. He couldn’t move. The loud sounds of his boot were right next to the doorway and England could hear him breathing. He was just standing there. Why? Why wasn’t he coming to kill him with his wooden hockey stick? Then it hit him.

Allan didn’t want him to.

He was a surprisingly loyal brother and would protect his family until his last breath. Technically, England was his father along with France. But he wasn’t Oliver. It was a conflict in Mattheiu’s mind of _this is my family but yet it isn’t._ Even if he did kill him, another potion would revive him. But there wasn’t another potion, was there? Sure they could go through Russia, Germany, and Italy and force France to make another but France would die first before he would ever make another.

So he is stuck with the problem. England was his father. He and France made him. But he changed.

He had a small advantage.

He let out the breath he didn’t know he had been holding and with a confident step, revealed himself. He stared at the tall masculine man in his purple eyes. “You wouldn’t kill family, would you?” Mattheiu tried to hide the surprise in his face that Arthur could see clear as daylight. He glanced to Allan, observing the hint of sadness in his eyes. This is what remained of his lover.

But something was wrong…

_Where are Kyo and Yang?_

That’s when they came from his left, China with a clever and Japan with a katana. They both wore so much black and darkness hung over their faces. Their eyes blazed of red as the shine of their blades moved to strike him. England moved to the right as quick as he could; only suffering a cut to the shoulder by China. He winced, moving both his feet to face them and his arms to raise his gun. England looked to Mattheiu, observing his face. He looked as terrified as a child. As helpless as Matthew did when he was young…

_Matthew slung his bag, filled with only with a stuffed moose, a flannel blanket, and a bottle of maple syrup, over his shoulder. He had been planning to leave for weeks from where France and England lived together to raise him. He was tired of hearing the fighting. The screaming. The breaking of things thrown at each other. He looked ahead of him, seeing the dark plains and forest beyond that silently forbid anyone to enter. He shuttered, slowly moving his foot forward to leave until he heard a voice call from behind him._

_“Matthew!” Arthur called with a sense of panic in his voice. He didn’t have to look over to know that he was running to him. “What on Earth are you doing? It’s late and you need to be in be-“_

_“No.” He didn’t face him. He knew if he did, his brave face would disappear._

_“What do you mean no? Look at me, Matthew!” He pulled his shoulder and made the boy turn. He was obviously trying to keep his brave face but refused to look him in the eye. He looked down, closing his eyes tightly with his face as firm as he could make it. “I shouldn’t be anywhere but away from here! You both act as if I don’t exist! I would have starved to death years ago if I hadn’t learned how to cook for myself!” A tear slid down his face and fell off his chin. “Now, Matt…” Arthur sighed. “NO! This is my birthday present to myself since you both have forgotten about it for the last twelve years! In case you didn’t know, it was yesterday. Not that you care! I’m surprised you even noticed I was gone!”_

_Arthur stared at him. He knew it was true. But he never did anything for him. He always forgot. “…Then go.”_

_Matthew looked up, baffled. “Wh-“_

_“Go. If that is what you want and you fully believe it will benefit you, go.”_

_Matt nodded, looking at the plains then back to him, pure fear showing in his face until he left without another word._

_And that’s when Arthur felt true heartbreak._

His expression was mirrored perfectly from all those years ago… After France heard England just let him leave, he himself left him and the newborn child. Things hadn’t been the same since…

Even now, seeing that expression broke his heart.

But now he had to turn his attention to the threat in front of him. Yang slashed at his stomach and he stepped back. Quickly he shot his forehead and watched him fly back and hit the ground. Kyo watched him fall and watching the blood spill out into a pool. He turned to England, growling.

The next moments for him were a complete blur of ducking and dodging and getting cut until he shot him in the mouth. He, too, fell back on the ground and bled out. He watched them both as their blood began to cover them, creating them again reborn anew. They remained unconscious.

He looked to Mattheiu, watching the shock fall from his face back to a helpless child. Arthur walked to him slowly. “Matt… you can come home, now. We miss you.”

Matt knew what he was talking about and shuffled his feet.

England reached to a pouch on his belt, pulling out a little red box. “I had meant to give this to you...for quite some time.” He looked at the small ribbon on the box. “…I’m sorry, Matt…please, come home.”

Matt took it cautiously, eyes never straying from his face. He opened it, finding a silver locket lying on white silk. He held it up and opened it, seeing a small picture of the three of them. One of their happy moments in a group picture.

Matt choked back sobs and it only made it harder when England stepped forward and gave him a hug until he broke down, hugging back and sobbing.

Allan stared in disbelief. “What the actual fuck. Matt! Snap out of it already before I do it for you!”

Matt looked up at him, “Fuck off!”

Allan laughed, going down the steps and snatching the locket. “What are you gonna do now, tough guy? Cry? Oh wait you already are.”

“Allan give that BACK!” He lunged for it, only to stumble forward when he dodged.

“Gotta be fucking quicker, Matt! How can you call yourself a 2P when you are just like your 1P? You’re _weak!_ Just like he is,” He nodded towards Arthur. “And now he’s going to _die!_ And you know what else? You can’t do _SHIT_ about it.” He spat on his foot.

And at that moment, something deep inside him snapped.

He gripped Allan’s neck, pulling him off the ground. His eyes were empty and emotionless as Allan stared at his reflection.

“Who’s weak now?”

“Matt, stop!”

Allan dropped the locket, vision going fuzzy and his face turning red.

“MATTHEIU!”

He didn’t stop. Allan stared at his brother’s face, now hearing a ring in his ears. Then his eyes widen and he dropped him, falling over. Allan gasped and coughed, taking a moment to regain himself. He looked to Mattheiu and the bullet that had entered the back of his head. “So are you going to shoot me or are we going to have a little tea party?”

Arthur sighed. “I don’t know if I can.”

He scoffed, “As I said; _weak.”_

“Being sentimental isn’t weakness.”

“Why would you get sentimental over _me?_ I’m not Alfred, obviously.”

“But you are.” He kneeled down and held his face. “You are his flesh and blood.”

He moved away from his hand. “Don’t touch me.”

He sighed and held up his gun, aiming straight at his heart. He pulled the trigger and…

Nothing. Nothing happened. He looked at his gun and counted up the people he shot.

_Ivan, Feliciano, Ludwig, Yao, Kiku, Matthew…_

He used all six rounds.

_Oh bloody hell._

Allan smirked, swiftly picking up his bat and swinging quickly. Arthur rolled back, cursing.

“Let’s call some backup, hm?” He smirked. “Hey Jared, Bernard, Roland, Natasha, Erzsebet, Gilen, Leonardo, Hermes, Lokki, Marie, Andres, Leisl, Tomas, Laurens, and Katia! Gimme some help in here!”

One by one they came in with different weapons in the order they were called. Australia, Sweden, Austria, Belarus, Hungary, Prussia, Romano, Greece, Norway, Seychelles, Spain, Liechtenstein, Lithuania, Netherlands, and Ukraine.

He was outnumbered. He couldn’t fight them off individually and especially without any bullets. As soon as they came down the steps they surrounded him and began to close in. Jared had a machete, Bernard had a rifle, Roland just had his teeth, Natasha had a small pistol, Erzsebet had a shovel, Gilen had a sword, Leonardo had a switchblade, Hermes had rope, Lokki had an axe, Marie had a mace, Andres had brass knuckles, Leisl had a handgun, Tomas had a dagger, Laurens had a crowbar, and Katia had special metal gloves that had sharp tips. And they all planned to make him suffer. In which they did. Hours of nothing but deep cuts, burns, stabs, swings, biting, punches, and guns held to his head constantly.

_I am going to die here._


	8. Biting Blades

Hour one was just them being creative. Finding what they could do to make him suffer. By the end of the hour, they had found at least twenty three. Cuts were all over his body, some deeper than others but all in straight lines and parallel to each other. He began to wonder where they had gone for so long…

He had a moment to study the room he was in. It seemed like an attic, an occasional crate here and there. A majority of them held either a blade or a candle or both. He was lying on a wooden table with the top of his uniform ending at the bottom of his torso. His hands were cuffed above his head and his feet were cuffed to a post.

He was exhausted from cut after cut. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go…someone was supposed to be there as soon as he was surrounded like in his books.

Where was his savior? Where were Yao and Kiku? Ludwig and Feliciano? Ivan and France? Where was his hope? Was it breaking like his spirit was and only after an _hour?_

Allan walked into the room with a straight face, never looking Arthur in the eye. “We have obviously been torturing you but a lot of them wanted me to tell you why.”

England glared at him. “Then spit it out already,” He responded coldly.

“A certain chemical will be released in you that will raise the chemicals put into your body to make Oliver. Eventually, Oliver will return and heal. But for now just enjoy the pain.”

Arthur spat at him as he left.

The others came in with more knifes and buckets and barrels of unknown liquid. They continued to cover his body in deep cuts that he was growing accustom to but his attention was on those barrels. He figured it out when smelled a distinct smell of lemons and saltwater. They didn’t just want to cut him. They wanted to make it burn only to start over again and numb him from the core out.

_It burns.  
_ For a moment he looked surprised or insulted that a tear was escaping his eye.

He was insulted.

_I am not going to break! I want to have a chance or hope or something!_

What was hope to him now? An unrealistic fantasy he couldn’t grasp for himself?

They were digging a crowbar into part of his back. It was dull and pushed into his skin so slowly. It felt like there was acid coming out of ever cut. Now they were beating him with Allan’s bat on his stomach.

_How much of this can I take?_

He was falling apart at the seams. Was he screaming? Sobbing? Both?

He could only hear a faint buzzing sound in his ear.

 

 

_Where is Francis?_

What he actually thought was hours were only mere minutes. They whispered deceiving words in his ears, the 2P’s. It was maddening. Now it was hours, maybe days since the torture began. His screams turned into hysterical laughter slowly through the hours.

He was losing.

They took Prussia’s sword that had been sitting in a flame, Fiorello cutting into his skin with precision.

But something caught them off-guard.

England let out a loud, twisted laugh like a madman were being tickled.

His hair color lightened to a blonde and his eyes were glowing a light blue with a light pink swirl to his pupil. His skin lightened and they stepped away.

Arthur was gone.

 

Francis helped clean up the countries that had fled in the heat of the moment, reporting to him. When China and Japan had regained consciousness, they saw America hurting Canada with bitter words and decided it was best if they left through the cellar. They only waited a moment for Germany and Italy to wake up before gun shots sent them running.

Once the four of them reached France’s home as the note directed, they filled in Francis and Ivan, resting after the miles of walking. Italy passed out at mile two so he was asleep on the loveseat that was stained with blood. After they had described what they had seen, Ivan, Ludwig, Kiku, and Yao began assembling guns of their own, being the skilled engineers that they were.

Matthew slammed the door open. By the bags under his eyes it was clear he was tired and if Feliciano wasn’t awake now, he was when Matt flung him off the loveseat and fell upon it, falling asleep instantly. Residue was left from his 2P which was the same story as the others. France was contently craving a cigarette because of it and the room was filled with a thin layer of cigarette smoke. He could easily blame it on the stress he was going through, which people would believe him but the truth was still as obvious as daylight.

The small distraction didn’t last long. As soon as they saw who, they went back to work. Except for Germany. The leftover traits from his 2P were his desire for the Italian. He picked up the confused man and laid him on the dusty couch with a pillow.

“Get some rest. You’ll need it.” The German spoke.

Italy nodded, getting comfortable and drifting off when the sound of Germany’s big boots walking back to his working table.

When Matt and Feliciano woke up, they were in charge of making bullets. Italy, did however, made many different bullets. He was more informed on guns than he was willing to admit, having so many mafias. He put small customizations to some of the guns, making them run as smooth as clockwork with multiple varieties of armor piercing bullets Matt did the small things. Having a large magnifying glass over a pre-constructed bullet, he put in five drops of the clear liquid that had a bluish tint to it. Working with the fragile, thin glass and metal until he passed it to Feliciano to do the rest of the construction.

With careful instruction from Germany, he told him how to smelt the metal and make precise molds for the pieces. Since Germany lived so close, he had an area for smelting at his disposal. He received calls from the walkie-talkie and a soon delivered blue prints and he would get to work.

Things were looking up.

Eventually the guns were finished, all unique. Matt and Feliciano made twenty-four rounds in all and put them into easily accessible pouches.

Japan kept his katana on his back, advising them to keep a melee weapon on them. Russia kept his iron pipe on hand; Germany was fine using his fists or the hilt of his gun. China kept a knife and Italy kept a switchblade. France had a fencing blade and Matt kept a hockey stick.

Time was at hand to rescue the English man.

Whatever was left of him…


	9. GUYS WAIT

Okay look  
this is a work from 2013  
i thought i had awesome writing ability and I didn't (obviously shown in chapter 1)  
now Im better at story making. Writing is mediocre  
but i am redoing the entire story, throwing out the original exposition. As stated in the comments, there isnt a lot of 2p stuff of quality. I cannot promise utmost quality, but I can attempt.  
Im keeping the main story line because it wasn't /bad/ per se. It was an interesting concept and I'd like to revisit it.  
So look forward to it!!


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